


The Portrait's Promise

by JaneSeverus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Seduction, But a drabble with potential for more, Drabble, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, One-sided action, PWP, Vaginal Fingering, girl in front of portrait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 18:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8633128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneSeverus/pseuds/JaneSeverus
Summary: Lily Luna Potter fancies the man in the portrait and teases him.





	

Lily knew it was wrong of her but the temptation was something she simply could not resist. It had started quite early on, when she was just in her second year and called to the headmaster’s office. Not for something she had done, despite what others might think, but to explain mischief caused by her older brothers. But that was when she had spotted him, hanging there lonely, a cloth half-covering the frame.

She dared to ask questions about it only later on in the year and the Headmaster patiently explained the portrait was different than all others. Not only had it been made very long after the depicted person’s death, but the man in question wasn’t overly loved in the school as many people still doubted whether he’d been really on the good side or on the bad. The depicted also seemed to love solitude and therefore the Headmaster often used a cloth to cover him up from the outside world. The man probably hadn’t seen the girl, but she had seen him, and in her third year she found his portrait had been moved to one of the tower rooms where she found she could visit him without anyone overlooking their meetings.

It started innocently enough, with her glancing at him and asking him questions about school and homework. Especially on the topic of potions he seemed to be a genius. And yes, she knew who he was from family history and she knew a bit about his past, how special her grandmother had been to him.

He reminded her of that particular bit of shared history quite often, whenever he would just watch her with dark eyes and then after a bout of silence comment on how much her eyes were like her father’s. Like Lily’s. At first he had lamented the irony of her carrying the name of the woman he had loved and lost, and the way she so perfectly resembled Lily. Sure she was different than her grandmother, especially in personality, but she had the red hair and the green eyes and she gave him attention, and that was enough to torment the poor soul trapped in the frame.

Yet, when she found out the effect she was having on him, she found the frequency of their meetings increase. And now at age seventeen, she wasn’t blushing any longer as she entered the tower room in which he hung. She had seen his eyes grow wide when she grew up, she had heard the sinful shame in his voice as he admitted that she was pretty already at age fifteen “but pretty for a child”. She knew she was getting to him at sixteen even though he denied it vehemently.  And though she knew it was wrong and the entire world would disagree she came up here to taunt him at age seventeen, a few months away from eighteen, and made sure to sit in front of his frame, knowing that no matter how much he hated himself for this he still came to watch her every time. She demanded his presence and he could not deny her.

And then she would lift her skirt just an inch higher and hear the breath hitch in his throat. She would see his eyes widen and his pupils blacken even more, turning into dark orbs of lust.  Her hand would creep up her thigh, fingertips teasingly tripping over smooth skin, just above her stockings where they would touch naked flesh. She would watch him through all of this, when she moved her fingers up towards her panties, when she squeezed her own breast, when she moaned just for show and when she slipped her fingers underneath the cotton of her undies. And he would watch and sometimes groan.

And the painter had done a marvelous job for even the darkness of his robes could not hide the tent growing underneath his cloak. Yet still he would watch as she helped herself to completion and afterwards he would disappear from his frame. In her curiosity she had once exited the tower chamber to revisit soon after and she had heard the low murmurs and hoarse groans as well as the slapping of skin.

The professor needed her, of this she was certain, and to prove her point she would use his name, would cry out for him, would moan that it should have been him to bring her to completion, that it should have been him inside of her.

Panties were torn away, buttons were undone and bra pushed hastily aside. Her hair was wild and her eyes afire when she looked at him, lips parted, teeth showing in some kind of growl. It should be him down there, not her fingers, not her own self doing this, touching her own skin.

“Lily Luna Potter.” The portrait said, one day when she paid him a visit again and had done the deed she usually did in front of him. “If I’d be in the flesh I’d fuck you hard upon that table you’re on. And not just that table. My old desk. The dungeon. The Headmaster’s office.  I won’t rest till I’ve had you in full and everywhere, Miss Potter.” And as he said the most he’d ever said to her she silently vouched she would make this man real again, pull him out of the portrait, and be his as he was hers.

“This,” he added as an afterthought, “I promise.”


End file.
